


The Valley

by Ridiculosity



Category: Uprooted - Naomi Novik
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Sharing a Bed, Uprooted Harvest Faire, enter at your own risk, i am a simple woman, oh my god there was only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 05:23:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20791319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ridiculosity/pseuds/Ridiculosity
Summary: Sarkan hated the opulent room, the excessively polite courtiers, and he really hated Agnieszka for bringing him along. And yet, here he was, in the middle of the capital city, comforting an idiotic sixteen year old girl. Canon divergence: Sarkan accompanies Kasia and Agnieszka to the capital city.





	The Valley

**Author's Note:**

  * For [athenasdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/athenasdragon/gifts).

> I'm dedicating this to athenasdragon, for singlehandedly keeping the uprooted fandom alive! Written for the Uprooted Harvest Faire. A fluffy bedsharing fic for a simple girl with simple tastes.

Court beds were awful. They sank a mile deep, they had far too many pillows, and the sheets were colours that made him nauseous. He would have nothing to do with a bright scarlet coverlet, particularly when the pillowcases were gold for some reason.

He sighed.

He looked at the mirror, his hands gripping the basin. The ornateness didn’t bother him, not that much. It was a good reason to complain, of course, but it wasn’t enough.

He hated court. He hated the capital city, and he was certain that there was some sort of social snub in the bedroom he had been given. Agnieszka would have been given a smaller one, or a less ornate one – she wouldn’t even realise that there was a social snub, it would be his burden to bear alone.

He longed to return to his tower. No one but Agnieszka bothered him there, and even she was a recent addition.

_An irritating addition, _he reminded himself sternly.

It was close to two in the morning and he hadn’t slept. He was in his breeches still, but he had discarded his shirt while doing his shave. Only a few moments ago he had finished with his correspondence – Vladimir needed to be told of his absence from the valley, the heads of the villages had to be informed on where to reach him. He didn’t know why he was bothering – if anything really _did _go wrong, his letter would arrive too late on principle.

He examined his face again, the neat shave he had managed to do with a touch of magic, the exhaustion of his eyes. His face was still wet from the wash, but at least it looked clean. He didn’t fancy himself as very attractive during travel.

The room was quiet.

He sighed again.

It was her. She was the reason for this. He was spending all his time, thinking of anything but her – from the bedroom to the basin, but the truth was he was just avoiding _her. _He was avoiding thinking about her – he was trying his best to banish her from his mind. Usually, it worked – his mind was a library: a century of memory, carefully and neatly organised, a lifetime of knowledge packed away in neat little boxes. You could avoid thinking about a lot of things for ages if you put your mind to it. He hadn’t thought about his mother in decades, and he was having trouble forgetting a witling peasant girl he had barely known for a few months.

For a moment, he gave in.

He thought about her hair, her eyes, her fingers, her voice, her stupidity, her infuriating magic, her infuriating _everything. _Her name whispered into the breath of the room until she was an everywhere and a nowhere.

The water dripped from his nose.

He opened his eyes, and looked to the candles to extinguish them. Something caught his attention as he turned. Something behind the door.

There was a shadow under the gap, and it was moving. It paced up, then it paced down, then it stopped directly in front of the door.

He let out a curse and a breath.

When he opened the door, she seemed to be on the verge of knocking.

“_What?” _He snapped.

She had the decency to look sheepish. “I – I couldn’t sleep.”

“Congratulations,” he said.

Heaven help him, she was in nothing more than a plain white shift. She wasn’t even wearing shoes or slippers, she was in just that – her arms were bare, the curve of her neck was somehow more pronounced. It took every ounce of self-control to not kiss her then and there.

_You have seen her naked, _he told himself. _You have seen many women naked. There is nothing she had that you cannot otherwise find. _

He really _shouldn’t _have reminded himself of the fact that he had seen her naked. Now it was hard to push the thought away.

“Could I come in?” she said. “My room is too much for me, and I think they put Kasia far away from me to make sure I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t the slightest idea where she is.”

“And you knew where I was?” he grumbled.

“I came just this morning for lessons, Sarkan, it wasn’t hard to remember.”

He stepped aside to let her in. She whistled as she entered – “I thought _my _room was too much.”

“Benefits of being a chief sorcerer,” he said bitterly.

She rolled his eyes. “Why do you make it sound like the worst thing in the world?”

“Because it _is.” _

“You are so silly, Sarkan,” she said. She turned away from him, examining the small dresser with a stack of books on it, the desk with correspondence spread all over. She was clearly in no mood to fight, or she would have shouted at him for something or the other – she was a haranguing nightmare.

“Why couldn’t _you_ sleep?”

“I hate court,” he lied. He deserved a commendation: his eyes had lingered on her lips only for a second.

“Oh,” she said. “I miss home too.”

He looked away from her.

Home. The valley was not his home, nothing was. Not even her.

“Sarkan, can I ask you something?”

“Me saying no has never stopped you before,” he said.

“Does _everyone _think I’m your lover?”

He scrutinised her. “Even the gardeners,” he admitted.

“Well – would it matter if I spent the night here?” she continued cautiously. “I – I don’t want to presume, of course – but I can’t sleep, and I feel really _small _in my room.”

Agnieszka, in his bed. Agnieszka, her hair open, in his bed. Agnieszka, her skinny arms bare and in _his _bed. He nearly snapped a _no, _until he noticed the shambles her hair were actually in. How tired she looked, how alone.

It was a struggle to nod.

“I’ll use the sofa,” she promised. “I won’t have you thrown out of your own bed.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he said. “The bed is huge.”

It was. There were yards and yards of space between them. They could even pile up the pillows to make sure no one crossed over, their skin never touched, nothing ever touched.

At least she looked as pink as he felt. He decided it was time to look away from her, for better or for worse. He went to the right side of the bed, turned away from her, and extinguished his lamp. Without saying goodnight, he pretended to sleep.

* * *

And pretended.

And pretended.

And pretended.

She was asleep soon after, he knew. She was asleep, and like everything about her in real life, she was a mess while dreaming. Her shift had crawled up her legs, and Sarkan was painfully aware of the fact that her hair smelled like the rosemary she had used to heal him. She was so close – he could reach across, touch her hair, her arms, her back. She was facing him, her eyes were shut, he could count the freckles on her face.

She turned in her sleep.

His heart lurched to his throat.

“Kasia,” she murmured in her sleep. She wasn’t facing him, but he could feel her breath.

He turned to the canopy of the bed.

“Make hot buns,” she continued. “Mother said –?”

Whatever mother said got lost in her dream.

And she turned again, a frown creasing her forehead. She turned to the canopy, and again to him.

“Sarkan,” she whispered.

His heart stopped.

“Sarkan,” she repeated. And again she sounded like she was frowning. “Go away.”

It sank again.

To be fair, if she had said anything other than “Go away,” he would have been more than a little surprised.

“Idiot,” she said fondly in her sleep.

God forgive him, he was aroused. He turned away from her, from the vulnerability of her sleeping, from her voice creeping into his heart saying “Idiot” with a shake of her head. This sixteen year old girl, calling _him _an idiot, the greatest magician of his time.

How was he supposed to sleep _now? _

“Come back,” she said.

Sarkan could feel his heart erupt. He turned to her as she repeated softly, “Come back.”

In her sleep, she turned again, into the crook of his elbow. He touched her back, felt the creases of her skin. It was the valley scrawled into her body, right there. He felt the mountain passes and the wood, the spindle weaving itself down her back. The story of the world was written under her shift, and she was sleeping.

“What am I doing?” he said to himself, not for the first time.

This was stupid. He was being foolish, and he needed to stop. This was a sixteen-year-old girl he barely knew, sleeping in confidence that he would not do – whatever he was doing.

He pulled his arm away from her and turned away again. Some attempt was made to sleep, but when Agnieszka woke up the next morning, he had already left the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Love reviews!


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